


Teen Movie Magic

by littledust



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Canon Disabled Character, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 09:31:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2727362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledust/pseuds/littledust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the accident, Charles would have asked Erik out within the first three days of school. Now Raven is pressuring Charles to at least ask him to prom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teen Movie Magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leoiswithoutidea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leoiswithoutidea/gifts).



"Oh, come _on_ , Charles," Raven says, lower lip protruding. She gestures at the prom posters tacked up on the cafeteria walls, so thick that they cover the windows in places. "You love all this stupid crap."

"I loved all this stupid crap," Charles corrects her, then regrets it immediately when Raven's face falls. His sister has never been one for school events, in England or America, and half of her excitement about the prom is definitely for his sake. "Still do," he says, patting his wheelchair. "Got a built-in date and everything."

Raven punches him on the bicep.

"Ow!" Charles says, rubbing his arm.

"You told me hit you whenever you started with that self-pity crap," Raven says, fists still raised. God, he loves her. "New school, new friends, new chances for romance. I've seen you looking at _Erik_ when you think he's not looking." She sing-songs the name, then takes a sip from her water bottle, batting her eyelashes.

Charles steals another look at Erik from across the cafeteria. His sister is annoyingly right, as usual. Erik is in most of his classes and staggeringly, ridiculously handsome. He's also a fellow mutant and spent most of his childhood in Germany, so they actually have things to talk about. Or would, if Charles could get up the nerve to say more than two words to him.

Before the accident, Charles would have asked him out within the first three days of school, but better not to think of that. Charles doesn't much anymore, honestly, but he's been feeling under the weather despite the warm May brightness outside.

"I'm not asking him out," Charles says. "It's three days away. If he wants to go, he already has a date. But he's wearing a leather jacket, he's probably against school dances. He's certainly outspoken about his political views in history class. He likes to research mutant history, you know, and--"

"--and that's really awesome, and you should talk about that _with him_ at the prom," Raven says. "I wear leather jackets too! I hate school dances! If you can get me hyped up about the prom, Erik won't be able to resist."

"Still not doing it," Charles says.

*

"I was wondering," Charles says, and has to stop to clear his throat in the middle of his sentence. This cold is going to be the death of him, but the cold medicine makes him feel soft and floaty, like his thoughts are encased in pillows. Everyone else's thoughts feel like small kittens brushing against the pillows.

"You were wondering," Erik prompts him, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You're very handsome," Charles says. A small part of him is screaming _no, don't, you're embarrassing!_ but most of him is full of cold medicine and probably the flu and it might not have been the best idea to come to school today. "We should go to the prom together."

Now Erik is smirking. It's distressingly sexy. "The prom? Isn't that a little…?"

"It's a terribly overhyped American custom, but I'm afraid we have no choice," Charles says. Raven is giving him thumbs up in the distance. He loves Raven. Erik is very handsome. Everything is wonderful. "Cultural tradition. We must fit in."

"I would ask if you're stoned, but I think the box of tissues taped to your leg gives it away." Erik brushes a strand of hair off of Charles's face. "Ask me again when you're not on drugs. I'll probably say yes."

His hand feels so good. Charles closes his eyes and murmurs, "I don't do drugs." Then, already too comfortable, he falls asleep.

*

Charles wakes up a few hours later in his own bed. Raven has set up a tray next to his bed with a glass of water, a glass of orange juice, more cold medicine, and a vitamin. Charles takes more medicine, avoids the vitamin (why can't they make chewable ones for adults? _do_ they make chewable ones for adults?), and gets halfway through the water before he remembers what he was doing when he fell asleep.

"Raven!" Charles shouts, or tries to. It comes out in a pathetic croak, then he has a coughing fit. His head is clear now, though, and full of mortifying memories. He grabs his phone to shoot Raven a series of angry texts.

And pauses.

He has some missed text messages from an unknown number. _Hello. This is Erik. I hope you are feeling better._ Charles smiles, touched, and reads the next text. _Raven gave me your number. I hope you don't mind._ Followed by: _This idiot history textbook dismisses Rasputin's mutant powers as "rumors." Real historians might not agree what his powers were, but they acknowledge that he was a mutant…_ The text continues in this vein for quite some time, long enough to get split across two messages.

Charles smiles and begins tapping out a long reply on amplification of genes and the rarity of mutations at the turn of the twentieth century. He might not have Erik's historical knowledge, but he knows his science. Tit for tat.

*

Charles's cold, thankfully, turns out to be more of the 48-hour variety than the 7-day. He and Erik are texting constantly, despite Erik ostensibly still having school. _I was overdue for a case of senioritis,_ Erik says when Charles mentions this. _Didn't have much to distract me from my schoolwork until now. What's your favorite color?_

_Blue,_ Charles answers, and feels anything but.

On Friday, Raven bursts into his room, throws one of his suits at him, and announces, "Get dressed, we're going to prom!" She's only halfway through her own beautification process (despite her mutation, Raven insists on doing her hair the old-fashioned way), but she's clad in a stunning white gown that sets off the deep blue of her skin.

Charles swallows around the unexpected lump in his throat. The school transfer wasn't just for him. "Of course," he says. "Am I accompanying you, or are you finally going to admit you're dating Angel?"

"Shut up," Raven says, and throws his hairbrush at him. "I told Erik to be here with a guy corsage, you know what I'm talking about, at seven. Address all my thank you letters to the goddess of teen movie magic."

"I'm going to hug you," Charles says, and does, despite Raven's laughing protests about germs.

*

After a long argument over driving the van (which Erik wins by virtue of his mutation, despite a strong showing from Raven and amused indifference on Charles's part), the three of them set off for a school dance where Raven is _not_ meeting Angel and definitely _not_ going to sneak off with after the first hour.

"But if that happens," Raven says, "know that I learned those moves from the best."

"Oh my God," Charles groans, but can't bring himself to feel too bad. His sister did work some teen movie magic for him, after all--Erik showed up exactly on time, looking ridiculously handsome in his suit and bearing a sky blue boutonnière for Charles. It was perfect, right down to the way Erik said, "Hello," and immediately launched into his counter-argument regarding the need for separate schools for mutants. He's starting to win Charles over, to be honest.

Erik grins and says, "Oh, I have a flask in my pocket."

The prom venue is at a country club, beautifully lit with soft white lamps. Charles finds himself saying hello to more people than he expected--his lab partner Hank, Armando and his boyfriend Alex, and most of the people from his AP science and mathematics classes. Even Sean, only a sophomore, is there with a senior Charles vaguely recognizes. Of course Raven runs off once she sees Angel. Their dresses complement each other, black and white. Charles smiles.

There's a low-level thrum of irritation in Erik's mind--he doesn't like big social gatherings, and prom is sort of the definition of one--but most of him is happy to be anywhere with Charles. Charles lowers his fingers from his temples, vowing not to pry any further, and beams at Erik.

"Want to sneak off in about an hour or so?" Charles asks. "After the dinner, of course."

This time, Erik's smile is almost shy. "I thought you'd never ask."

*

"It's not that I think I can't dance anymore," Charles says, two hours and several swigs from Erik's flask later. "I've looked up wheelchair dancing on YouTube. I was never into it, you know, before."

Erik nods as he reaches for the flask. His expression screams curiosity; Charles doesn't need telepathy to sense that. To Charles's surprise, he wants to tell him. "My father died years ago, so it's been my mother and Raven and me for ages. We were still living in England, heading toward London after a holiday in the countryside. There was a car accident. I don't remember it, really, but I was paralyzed and Mother was killed."

There. It's out there, the agonizing truth. Everyone at school knows Charles uses a wheelchair, but very few know that Charles and Raven are now orphans. High schoolers aren't terribly interested in socialite deaths, even one that used to live nearby.

When Erik hands Charles the flask again, his fingers linger on Charles's. Charles catches his hand in his own. Well, why not? For he knows, Erik will be off to college in some distant place next fall, and a few weeks are all they have. Charles thought about Oxford, but it will be years before _England_ means anything other than _terrible, life-changing accident_ to him.

"My father died when I was twelve," Erik says. "My mother and I moved to America to get away from the pain. I always think it's stupid when people tell me that they're sorry or that I'm incredibly strong, but that's all I know to tell you." This smile is crooked, self-deprecating. Charles wants months to study all of Erik's smiles; no, _years_.

"It's not stupid," Charles says, soft. "I can feel when people mean things, especially when we're touching." He leans in.

Just before their lips brush, Erik stops and says, "Look, I don't know what your plans are for next year, but I'm going to college in New York City, so maybe on school breaks--"

" _Yes_ ," Charles says, and then pulls Erik in for a kiss, hot and sweet and perfect. _I'll be living in the city as well,_ he adds telepathically, unwilling to pry himself away from Erik again. Erik gasps against his mouth, and his large hands frame Charles's face.

_Yes,_ Charles tells Erik again, all of his newfound happiness and hope contained within one word.


End file.
